


under the mistletoe (pale-green, fairy mistletoe)

by melwritesthings



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Tumblr Secret Santa, general sweetness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 14:24:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17143403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melwritesthings/pseuds/melwritesthings
Summary: "Miss Stacy hung the mistletoe earlier that day, in their lesson on Christmas traditions from around the world. He’d found it a silly idea then, but seeing it hanging over him now, Gilbert wants to fall on his knees and praise the long history of traditions and myths that brought the little plant to its current position above his head.He drops his gaze back to Anne, who is still gaping at the ceiling."my gift for AWAE secret santa over on tumblr to anncblythe. happy holidays all!





	under the mistletoe (pale-green, fairy mistletoe)

**Author's Note:**

> this is my gift to anncblythe on tumblr. happiest of holidays to you!! and to all of you reading! much love and best wishes. title comes from the poem "mistletoe" by walter de la mare.

Anne is positively shaking with joy as she layers on her scarf and pulls her hat over her ears. For the last two weeks she’s stayed late at school with Miss Stacy to work on a piece of writing for Marilla and Matthew, and today it is finally finished, ready for a Christmas Eve reading.

 

As Anne struggles with her coat, the door to the schoolhouse flies open. As if carried in by a burst of wintry air, Gilbert blows through the entryway, crashing into her. Together they land in a heap on the floor.

 

“Oh! Anne! I’m so sorry, are you alright?”

 

Gilbert’s dark eyes peer down at her, shining with concern. Heat floods from her cheeks to her toes, and Anne finds herself unable to speak. He’s so close that she can feel the cold air that still surrounds him.

 

Briefly she wonders if the blush from her cheeks could warm his skin.

 

She blinks back at him, rendered silent by the sight of his curls escaping from beneath his hat, which was knocked askew by the fall. They are slightly damp with snow. Were her hands not currently pinned beneath him, Anne might instinctively reach up to touch them.

 

Gilbert swallows thickly, searching her face for any sign of pain. _Did she hit her head?_ He tries to ignore the feel of her beneath him, forcing himself to focus on her health.

 

“Anne?” he asks again, this time with greater urgency. She feels heat rush through her veins once more: this time, she is ashamed. _Dr. Blythe_ , she thinks, _always so concerned._ Anne chides herself for luxuriating in his proximity rather than assuring him of her wellbeing.

 

The spell of the moment is broken, it seems, and Anne scrambles to be free.  

 

“I am fine, Gilbert, you clumsy brute!” she shakily laughs, “What _are_ doing here?”

 

“I think I left a book here,” he says, reaching down to help her stand, “and I wanted to do some studying over the holiday.”

 

Anne dusts herself off once she is upright again. “Ah, yes,” she teases, “can’t have the good doctor falling behind.”

 

Gilbert smirks back at her. “Queen’s entrance exams are rapidly approaching,” he says wisely. “so I have to at least give myself a chance to beat you.”

 

Anne rolls her eyes playfully. “Oh, Gilbert, when will you learn? The top score will obviously be mine.”

 

Gilbert, now moving down the length of the schoolhouse to his desk, turns back to her with raised eyebrows.

 

“Well, we’ll just see about that,” he chuckles, holding up his reclaimed book.

 

Anne snorts with laughter and resumes the previous struggle with her coat. Seemingly unable to reach her arm through the sleeve, she spins in circles in attempt to grab it.

 

Gilbert watches her, a fond smile stretched across his lips. Her hair, pulled loose from their fall, flies behind her as she spins. He watches her lip curl in frustration as she grabs in vain at her coat sleeve.

 

“You know, Anne,” he says moving back towards her, “for a genius, you sure do need my help a lot.”

 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Anne spits, and Gilbert knows that he has touched a nerve. “I haven’t asked for your help, have I?”

 

Gilbert takes her shoulders and stills her movements. In the back of his mind, he is awe that he might be so lucky as to touch her twice in one day.

 

Anne snaps her head up to look at him, her blue eyes boring into him. The skin beneath her freckles, usually a crisp ivory, is tinged pink as she looks at him questioningly. Gilbert reaches down to grab her sleeve and brings it up until her arm has at last slipped inside.

 

“You didn’t have to,” he breathes.

 

Anne raises her chin slightly. “Right,” she whispers, “right. Thank you, Gilbert.”

 

“You’re welcome, Anne.”

 

Gilbert watches her eyes drift away from his face, feeling the loss of their attention immediately. When her mouth drops open in surprise, he follows her gaze upward.

 

His heart nearly beats out of his chest when he sees the bundle of greenery hanging above them in the schoolhouse entryway.

 

Miss Stacy hung the mistletoe earlier that day, in their lesson on Christmas traditions from around the world. He’d found it a silly idea then, but seeing it hanging over him now, Gilbert wants to fall on his knees and praise the long history of traditions and myths that brought the little plant to its current position above his head.

 

He drops his gaze back to Anne, who is still gaping at the ceiling.

 

Anne can’t breathe, can’t take her eyes away from the leafy menace taunting her from above. Of course Gilbert won’t want to kiss her. She is too plain, too flighty, too—

 

A soft pressure on her cheek halts any further thought.

 

Fire erupts across her skin at the contact. A sharp laugh escapes her lips before Anne can stop it, and she feels Gilbert smile against her cheek.

 

“Merry Christmas, Anne,” he whispers in her ear, and steps away from her.

 

As he reaches the door of the schoolhouse, Anne finds her voice and calls after him.

 

“Merry Christmas, Gil.”

 

\--

 

Two days later Anne still feels her cheek burning as she and Diana get ready for the Barry’s holiday party. Diana had begged Anne for days to let her dress her for the evening, and now Anne is grateful that she acquiesced.

 

Standing before the mirror in Diana’s bedroom, Anne can scarcely recognize herself. She looks lovely, even elegant.

 

“Oh, Diana,” she breathes, “you do work wonders, you know that?”

 

“Hush now, Anne,” her friend chides, “you are beautiful and charming always. This dress just highlights your beauty.”

 

Anne smiles at Diana before returning her gaze to her own reflection. The dress, a deep emerald green, makes her feel like a Christmas fairy. Diana, in her own red gown, moves to stand next to her.

 

“Oh yes, Diana, do stand with me tonight,” Anne says brightly, “for I am made so much lovelier by your presence next to me.”

 

The girls laugh together down the stairs, entering a world of holiday delight. The Barry house is awash with candlelight, draped in greenery, and sparkling with cheer. Scrumptious treats are laden on every surface and a tinkling of carols echo throughout the home.

 

Guests are already mingling and laughing; Anne’s eyes roam the crowd for a mop of familiar dark hair, moving almost of their own accord. She frowns when she spots him. Gilbert is not among the merry revelers at all.

 

He is standing outside, just visible through the parlor window.

Anne squeezes Diana’s hand and steps away from her friend. “I’ll be back in a moment,” she promises. Diana smiles knowingly and moves to greet her mother’s guests.

 

Stepping out into the cold, Anne reproaches herself for not grabbing a coat. Nevertheless, she quietly approaches Gilbert.

 

He is standing on the Barry’s porch, looking into the inky landscape laid out in front of the house. Anne wonders if he is actually taking in the scene before him, or if he is seeing a memory from another time. As he does not seem to notice her approaching him, Anne suspects it is the latter.

 

She gently places a hand on his shoulder. Startled from his reverie, Gilbert turns to face her.

 

“Anne,” he breathes, and she watches the icy air carry his words away, “you look like a Christmas miracle.”

 

Anne knows that Gilbert means his compliment, but his smile does not quite reach his eyes. She moves her hand from his shoulder to clasp his forearm.

 

“What’s troubling you, Gil? You do not look so jolly this evening.”

 

Gilbert covers her hand with his own. “I am thinking of my father,” he sighs, “and how much he loved this time of year.”

 

“I am sure he is here with you,” Anne says fiercely, tightening her grasp on his hand.

 

“I believe he is too,” he replies sadly, “but I do wish he was truly here. I love being with Bash and Mary—and now the new baby—and I love our tradition of having Christmas dinner with your family, Anne,” he says, voice thick with emotion, “but it isn’t… it’s not…”

 

“It’s not the same,” Anne supplies for him.

 

He smiles sadly. “It’s not the same,” he agrees.

 

Anne pauses for a moment, taking in Gilbert’s open and vulnerable expression. She is touched that he would share this with her.

 

“I never had a merry Christmas until I came to Avonlea,” she says slowly. “And I am not trying to make this about myself, I promise,” she adds.

 

Gilbert smiles fondly and gestures for her to continue.

 

“It’s just that I know what it is to feel lonely at this time of year. I never thought I’d experience a happy Christmas. But here I am now with a family and a home—and I think it just goes to show that while sorrow and grief can feel endless, Gil, there is always joy to be found.”

 

Gilbert’s eyes shine back at her and Anne rolls her eyes in embarrassment. As she does, a familiar little plant above the Barry’s doorway catches her eye.

 

Anne smiles wryly at Gilbert and looks up pointedly. He follows her gaze and breathes a laugh at the mistletoe hanging above them. Feeling emboldened at their shared moment, Anne leans forward and presses a kiss to his cheek.

 

She lingers for a moment, breathing his scent of soil and Christmas spice.

 

Gilbert marvels at the softness of her lips, at the feel of her hair at his neck, at the way her graceful fingers grip his own. The night is dark and frigid but he feels for a moment that he has been transported to paradise.

 

Pulling away, she sees him exhale a shuddering breath and slowly open his eyes. Gilbert looks at her with such tenderness that Anne thinks she might melt. Ordinarily she would shirk this gaze, but tonight she finds herself unable to look away. She wonders if his expression is mirrored on her own—and then wonders how it could not be.

 

“Thank you,” he whispers.

 

Anne takes moves to take his arm and leads him inside to the party. “Let’s have a very happy Christmas, Gilbert,” she whispers back.

 

\--

 

The next evening, after a delicious Christmas dinner, Anne stands in the doorway to the sitting room at the Blythe-Lacroix home. Marilla sits with Mary by the fire, watching Matthew cradle the new baby in his arms. Nearby sit Sebastian and Gilbert, chatting idly about the desserts they plan to eat before bed.

 

Anne places a hand over her heart, feeling that it may just burst with love. Her family. This is her family, gathered together. Suddenly it is too much. She clutches at her chest and moves quickly and quietly from the room.

 

She does not stop until she reaches the little garden outside the home. The cold air soothes her electrified senses, and Anne throws her head back in laughter and in tears.

 

“Anne!”

 

She turns quickly at the panic in Gilbert’s voice. Reaching her, he takes her by the shoulders and scans her face with worry.

 

“Anne, are you ill? What happened?” Gilbert’s voice is dripping with concern as he removes his coat and drapes it about her shoulders.

 

Anne finds she can only laugh harder as she takes him in, this lovely boy—grown into a man— before her.  

 

“Talk to me, please, Anne. What is happening?”

 

“Oh, I am sorry Gilbert, please do not worry,” she says breathlessly. “I am perfectly alright. I just... I had to get some air.”

 

“Do you feel unwell?” he asks, clearly not convinced.

 

“Not at all; in fact, it is the exactly opposite.” At the confusion that crosses Gilbert’s face, she continues, “In the moment I felt so perfectly happy I thought I might start shouting. And so I felt I should step out.”

 

Gilbert exhales at last, giving her a bewildered smile.

 

“Well I am pleased that your only ailment seems to be unbridled joy, Anne. I was afraid my Christmas punch had poisoned you.”

 

“Of course not, Doctor,” Anne laughs. “Your punch was delightful.”

 

Gilbert looks at Anne and knows that he will never tire of looking at her. In the schoolhouse the other day she was sweet and silly, spinning in circles like a toy top. Last night at the Barry’s she was regal and elegant, a princess of his heart.

 

Before him now, wrapped in his coat in the fierce air, red-faced and laughing, she is the very essence of his love for her.

 

Tonight there is no mistletoe hanging above their heads. In the vast sky there is a scattering of stars, wild winter winds, the beaming silver moon. It is where his Anne belongs, where he belongs with her.

 

She smiles widely at him and Gilbert takes her face between his hands. His winter goddess, a Christmas miracle.

 

Anne’s laugh hitches slightly at his touch. She brings her own hands to grasp his wrists, needing to steady herself beneath his gaze. He is a prince borne of goodness and light, holding her in her own winter fairyland, he is love itself, he is—

He is kissing her.

 

There is Christmas punch and sugar on his lips, and Anne knows no sweet could ever compare to this. She feels him begin to shake—from the cold or from joy, she is not sure—and she wraps her arms about him, pulling him close.

 

Gilbert feels her sink into him and he thinks he may never recover from the sensation. Behind his eyes stars are bursting and time stands still—just so he can memorize the movement of her lips, the hum that escapes from her throat, the feel of her gathered in his arms.

 

Pulling apart, Gilbert laughs lowly at Anne’s dazed expression. “You know, Anne,” he murmurs, “I think I understand your ailment from before.”

 

“Oh?” she teases, “Are you quite well, Gilbert?”

 

“I am so happy,” he whispers against her ear, “so happy I fear my heart cannot take it.”

 

Anne grins wildly and takes his hands in her own.

 

“I think we will manage.” Then, pulling him back towards the house, she calls, “Merry Christmas, Gil.”

 

Gilbert, squeezing her hand, swallows thickly but cannot speak for the emotion in his throat. His whispered words are carried away on a Christmas wind.

 

“Merry Christmas, Anne-girl.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr at aanneshirley. thanks so much for reading! this was a really great project and cured me of my previous writer's block. so there should be more writing soon!


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